


The Mother Day

by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotThatIWillEverWriteIt/pseuds/NotThatIWillEverWriteIt
Summary: Their first Mother's day, just the two of them.





	The Mother Day

**Author's Note:**

> I was really wishing for a Mother's day chapter but alas, not all wishes can come true. Thank god for fanfics, though! 
> 
> Related chapters: [217](http://www.mangago.me/read-manga/19_days/bt/310998/Ch217/1/) | [240](http://www.mangago.me/read-manga/19_days/bt/tr_chapter-240/pg-1/)
> 
>  
> 
> **Read and review! <(_ _)>**

She knew he was trying to be considerate of her. Both of them had been silent about today – even she hadn’t been able to muster up enough energy to address it – but of course, she should have realized even a little child like him would pick up on her feelings around this time of the year. 

Or was it _because_ he was a little child? 

A sigh was released from deep within her, and she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Her time to get up to make breakfast had passed almost an hour ago, and she was craving for a cup of coffee. The sharp, almost burnt-like aroma of it had lingered from the kitchen to the bedroom, but patiently she lied under the covers and listened to the clanking and clinking of dishes. 

Last year she had been patiently listening to a barely hushed conversation to go along with the clatter of plates, mugs, and a frying pan. There had been a deeper voice there to help flip the pancake and use the knife. And a warm kiss surrounded by rough morning stubble to go with breakfast. 

A rattling crash from the kitchen flinched her back. She frowned and blinked to clear the hot, prickling pressure that had started to build behind her eyes. With another sigh, she flung the blankets aside and flung her robe over her shoulders. Its fabric softened by years wrapped around her slim frame like a cape. She needed that steaming mug of coffee to carry her through today more than ever. It never failed the other 364 days. 

The floorboards creaked under her slippers when she quietly tiptoed in the hallway. Carefully she peeked around the corner and couldn’t help when a little smile tugged the corners of her lips. 

So, this was what the not-so-secret preparations of today always looked like. 

The tabletop in the middle of their small kitchenette was loaded with a big bowl with a sticky-looking ladle sticking out of it, an army of measure cups in different sizes, an open butter box with a buttery knife threatening to fall off to the floor, and a half-full jug of orange juice alarmingly close to the edge of the table. A pan with faint swirls of smoke was sizzling on the cooker. Here and there were splatters of thick, yellow batter, white puffs of flour, and small, sticky handprints. 

In the middle of it all was a scrawny little Guan Shan with messy bed hair. He was reaching on his tiptoes over the pan and struggling to flip a runny, oversized pancake. Tiny drops of the sizzling butter splattered, and the boy hissed and pulled back. 

“Oh, what’s all this!” she said and stepped out of her hiding place. 

The boy spun around while clutching the spatula and frowned at her. “Mom, you can’t come yet!”

Giving him a little smile, she ran her fingers through the soft hair that also had its fair share of batter and flour in it and bent down to kiss the top of the boy’s head gently.

“Good morning. Can I help you with anything?” 

The boy squirmed under the affection, and her hands were pushed off.

“No, go back to sleep.”

“Can I at least have some coffee?”

After some pondering, her suggestion was agreed to with a reluctant sigh. While he was reaching for her favorite mug in the drying cabinet, she picked up pieces of eggshell that had crunched under her slippers and sneaked to turn down the temperature of the cooker two notches. 

“It looks really delicious. Did you really do all this by yourself?”

Faint spots of blush rose to color Guan Shan’s cheeks, and he nodded quietly. 

“Do you need help flipping?” 

“I can do it. Daddy teached me.” 

The squeeze in her chest flared quickly, and she sipped a gulp of the piping hot coffee. Fortunately, Guan Shan was concentrating on wiggling the spatula under the fat pancake. Anticipating silence fell in the kitchen. The pancake came off the pan easily enough, but it had too much batter and the sides weighted too heavy over the spatula. The delicate texture tore in pieces in the middle of the flip.

Guan Shan’s little shoulders slumped. 

“It’s ruined,” he said, his voice already thick with tears. Upset, he tossed the spatula with a clatter. 

“It’s not ruined at all. I’m sure it tastes just as good.” 

She picked up the spatula and wiped off the drops of batter before they were burnt stuck to the enamel. Carefully she tipped the heavy pan and scooped the sad remains of the pancake on a plate. 

Guan Shan sniffed miserably and glared at the pan as if it was personally responsible for his failure.

“Let me show you a special trick how you can do it. Dad must’ve forgotten to teach it to you but now that you’re the man in the house, I think it’s time.”

With a familiar toss, she flung a kitchen towel over her shoulder and mixed the batter in the bowl to incorporate the flour that had sunk to the bottom. The pan hissed at her when the half-ladle of gooey mixture she poured on it spread out evenly into a fluffy little disk. 

“The secret to flipping pancakes is to be patient.”

She picked up pouting Guan Shan to her arms, and together they watched as the batter started cooking on the pan. Now that she had captured him in one place for long enough, she gently wiped the batter stains off his hair with the towel before they could dry up and tangle. It seemed he would need as thorough of cleaning after breakfast as the kitchen. 

“See those little bubbles that come to the top?”

Guan Shan nodded and intently stared into the pan. 

“Wait for them. And don’t heat the pan too hot or they will burn. Here, let’s take a look.”

She wrapped Guan Shan’s little fingers around the spatula again and while guiding him with her own hand, they lifted the side of the pancake carefully and peeked under it. 

“Seems about ready, don’t you think? Now, don’t try to jerk the spatula but sli~de it carefully like this.” 

Together, their hands joined, they circled the rim of the cooked batter while sliding the flat of the spatula gently under the pancake. It came off easily and stayed intact, balanced in mid-air. Guan Shan’s little body tensed up and his breathing came out in quick puffs as if he forgot to breathe. 

“Ready for the flip, chef?”

With a swift, nimble flick of her wrist, the spatula turned, and the undercooked side of the pancake met the hot pan. It was a clean flip, no batter splatters. Guan Shan turned his big, round eyes to look at her and his mouth was open in silent awe and excitement. 

"See? It's not that hard." 

For the next couple of batches, they practiced together until Guan Shan managed to flip one on his own. She scooped the price pancake on a plate for him and covered it with a generous dribble of syrup. In silent content, Guan Shan sat at the table and munched on his sweet reward while she fried the remains of the batter and sipped her cooled down coffee. 

“Mom,” Guan Shan said suddenly next to her, tugging her robe. He was looking up at her with a little frown. His mouth and the front of his shirt were covered in syrup stains.

“Hmm? Did you eat already?” 

With the corner of the towel, she tried to wipe the little mouth clean, but Guan Shan dodged her hand. Instead, he revealed a bunch of flowers made of tissue paper behind his back and almost shyly held them out for her. 

“Happy Mother day.”

Her heart gave another squeeze because all the love she had for her son couldn’t possibly fit inside. For years, she had shared it with her husband but now she had to store these overwhelming moments alone. It felt like she was robbing them from him against her will. 

The hem of her robe dragged the floor when she crouched down on Guan Shan’s eye level and accepted the bouquet. Some of the flowers looked battered and their petals torn but they came in all the colors of the rainbow and none were alike. The paper stems felt damp where he had been clutching them tightly in his little fist. 

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and cupped his sticky cheek with her palm. “They’re beautiful.”

“They breaked a bit because someone throwed them in a puddle,” he mumbled. 

She frowned. “Who did?”

Guan Shan averted his eyes and kneaded the hem of his T-shirt. “Just someone.”

“Did you tell the teacher? No one should do something like that.”

The bony shoulders shrugged, otherwise the boy remained silent. News of any flower incidents hadn’t reached her. To her relief, the calls from the school had decreased lately so she had thought the bullying had stopped. Perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“Guan Shan,” she said emphatically and lifted his face to meet hers, “if someone is mean to you and bullies you, come and tell me. You can always tell me, okay? Whatever it is.”

The tiny lower lip was sucked in between the teeth when it started to tremble, and the frown deepened as he tried to hold back. To ease the pressure of embarrassment a little, she pulled him closer and pressed him tightly against herself and cradled the back of his head. He was a proud one, her son. To be able to lock him in her arms comforted her. She wished she could shield him forever like this. 

"But they're still very pretty. Thank you."

“When is dad coming home?” asked a quiet voice against the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t know," she repeated the same answer - the only answer she had for him - for the hundredth time. 

“But what about Mother day?”

Listening to the genuine anguish and _not understanding_ in his voice built up a lump in her throat and made it hard to breathe. She allowed herself a fleeting moment to collect herself before she pulled back from the embrace and wiped the sticky, wet trails that had dampened the soft cheeks. 

“Hey, now. We’re going to be just fine. You made me a delicious breakfast and gave me such a beautiful present, too. I’m really happy right now, and dad would be so proud of you.” 

Forcing a smile on her face, she tussled his messy hair and stood up with determination. 

“Now, help me clean this mess," she handed the towel to Guan Shan, "and then let’s finish the pancakes together.”

As the years piled on top of each other like spokes on a spinning wheel, it became a little easier. The apprentice became the master, and the tissue paper flowers were replaced with discount bouquets that were silently left on the kitchen table where she always spotted them early in the morning before leaving for work.

**Author's Note:**

> Behind the keyboard: [Tumblr](https://notthatiwilleverwriteit.tumblr.com/) | [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/venni.talvi.31) | Instagram: @notthatiwilleverwriteit


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